In The Beginning
by Mewkey
Summary: Summary inside. Part one of 3 prequels to the Movie trilogy. Be sure to check out part two, A Tangled Web.
1. Portrait of a Hacker

Disclaimer: The Wachowski Brothers, Warner Brothers, Joel Silver, and any number of other people own the rights to The Matrix and any and all related characters/content. Not me.

Caveat: If anyone has read my Beetlejuice fan fiction they know I am the queen of super short chapters. I apologize for this, but such is the nature of my muse. She makes me break things up in a certain way and I must obey her.

Synopsis: In the first Matrix movie, Morpheus speaks of one who was able to bend and shape the Matrix to his will and who began to free the first humans from their machine-imposed fantasy. That person sticks in my mind. Knowing the nature of myths and legends I don't think he was really able to affect the Matrix like that. I think he was just a clever hacker kid who had the skills to get himself to wake up from the goo pod. But how did he do it? Who helped him along the way? Where did the myth come from? These are questions I hope to answer. This began as one story, but as it unfolded I began to see that this just might end up being a trilogy. I'm kind of hoping not, because I just don't have the patience for three stories around one plotline lol, but it is at least going to be two stories. What you are reading is the first. I hope you enjoy it.

I now present to you: In The Beginning...

* * *

Imagine, if you will, a city. A city not unlike our own. Tall buildings in the downtown area, farmlands on the outskirts. It could be Tokyo. It could be Chicago. It could be London. It could even be Cincinnati.

Imagine within this city are millions of people, going about their lives, oblivious to much of the world around them. They get up in the morning, go to work, eat lunch, come home, watch television, spend time with their children and their spouses, and go to bed each night convinced that they know their place in the world. This is the world we know. This is the world as it is today.

Now, imagine a man. Imagine his name is Christopher. Christopher, unlike every other human being in our city, is not sure of his place in it at all. His dreams are troubled and make him question reality. It is of Christopher that we will now speak.

--

Christopher worked in the IT department at a Credit Union. He kept the software running, provided upgrades to the Credit Union PCs, wrote firewall software to prevent hackers from stealing the millions of dollars the Credit Union had as assets, and hated his job. True, he could come in and leave when he wished and still "earn" a full forty hours of pay. True, as long as he did his job the Credit Union looked the other way when he brought his own projects to work with him. However, after one takes the three hundredth call asking why the email isn't working one can imagine becoming somewhat disillusioned with the job. Regardless of pay and flexibility, IT and tech support isn't exactly the most rewarding of jobs to have.

In his younger days Christopher had served as a quasi black marketeer. After the movie Hackers had come out and his friends had begun trying to become the next Zero Cool or Acid Burn, Christopher had begun writing bits of software (that could never be traced to him) to give his friends the illusion of "Hollywood Hacking." He himself, meanwhile, laughed up his sleeve at his gullible friends as he built a large arsenal of computer skills that would be sure to land him a lucrative career in the future.

Now though, after obtaining a degree in computer programming and software creation and pursuing the career he had dreamed about as a young hacker kid, he was troubled. Things in Christopher's life had become somewhat routine. He had fallen back into some of his old hacker circles and was astonished by the number of his friends who had been imprisoned for identity theft or other cyber crimes. Apparently, while Christopher had been frittering his life away at the Credit Union hacking had become the pursuit of thieves and scoundrels instead of petty troublemakers.

More than that, though…Christopher found that some of his old friends and acquaintances had simply disappeared. Here one day and gone the next. It troubled him. Living in the twenty-first century had given him a healthy dose of paranoia, comparable to the next human, but for people to simply disappear? It was positively unsettling.

Which brings us to the present moment, and brings us to Christopher's apartment late one Sunday night. This is where I leave you, gentle reader, and the tale begins of its own accord.


	2. The Story Begins

Disclaimer: The Wachowski Brothers, Warner Brothers, Joel Silver, and any number of other people own the rights to The Matrix and any and all related characters/content. Not me.

* * *

Christopher popped another No-Doze and washed it down with a swig of Mountain Dew. There was no way he was sleeping tonite. His dreams were becoming worse, and if he didn't actually show up to work tomorrow (well…later today) there would be hell to pay. He wiped his mouth with his hand and reflected on the latest installment of his dream…

Pink pods. Millions of them. Stretching out as far as the eye could see in every direction, arranged in columns that stretched to the heavens. They were all connected to some sort of machinery that hummed slightly. Horrifying mechanical monsters, resembling octopi with a hundred eyes and a hundred arms, seemed to be tending to the pods. They flew in and out of the vast columns, adjusting a dial here, flipping a switch there. Christopher didn't know to what end. He floated nearer to a pod and was able to see inside. What he saw made his heart turn to ice.

Suspended in some sort of gelatinous liquid was his body. Attached to him were wires upon wires, culminating with one squarely in the middle of the base of the skull. The Christopher in the pod seemed completely oblivious to his surroundings, asleep in the goo as the machines flew by. As always in this dream, the "real" Christopher reeled and felt as though he could not breathe. He felt like his body had low electric current passed through it and though he struggled to open his eyes (aware now that he was dreaming), he could not. He tried to move his arms, desperate to wake up, but his entire body felt like lead. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He was suffocating.

Always at this point a stronger electrical current would seem to pass through his body and he would wake, in his own bed, in his own apartment, inexplicably crying. Each time he woke from this nightmare, Christopher would weep bitter tears as if he had been denied some fundamental truth of the world.

Well not tonite. Tonite he needed a break from that nightmare world of squid robots and pod people. If he fell into that dream again, Christopher knew he would be late to work tomorrow (or would simply not show up at all) and the boss had made it abundantly clear what would happen if he wasn't at work on time on Monday. Considering the rent was due, Christopher couldn't afford to be in the unemployment line on Tuesday.

Christopher wiped a hand down his face and regarded his computer screen with mild amusement. A bit of animation he was rendering had been completed and was running. It depicted a woman in a black leather fetish outfit fighting a vaguely Asian man in a white leather outfit. He didn't like Hong Kong action flicks, and yet he seemed to delight in using them to further his computer animation talents. He watched as the woman soundly kicked the man's ass in rapt silence. Then it happened.

The screen flickered for a moment and the sequence that had just played out between the man and woman replayed itself. Christopher frowned, assuming a glitch in the software, and stopped the animation. He flicked through what he could check easily and found no problem. He spent a couple hours checking what he could not check easily and also found no problems. He let the animation play again, to pinpoint the problem area, but no glitch occurred. It ran from beginning to end without a blip. Confused, he checked the time. Time, it seemed, was not on Christopher's side as he had to be at the Credit Union in a little under an hour. He left himself a note to debug the computer itself when he got home, took a quick shower, grabbed his No-Doze and Dew from the fridge, and left for work.

--

In a kitchen on the other side of the city, a woman sat baking cookies. She hummed to herself, smiling an enigmatic smile, watching for the precise moment to remove the cookies from the oven. She knew, as all her "kind" did, that none of this was real. She knew the cookies were digital imprints of several hundred years of humans "baking cookies" and how humans expected them to look, smell, feel, and taste. Still, she took some satisfaction in the act.

She felt the code ripple around Christopher, reasserting itself for the nth time, and hummed a little louder. She knew what she was doing. Change a number here, manipulate the code there, and something new would happen for the first time since this version was created. This was what she herself had been created for, her primary function. If only her creators knew what they had made.

_It's time_, she thought. She snapped off the oven and drew out her cookies. As she put them on racks to cool, she felt the code around Christopher ripple again. This time, though, it was through her influence. Much like the butterfly that flaps its wings in Hong Kong and causes a hurricane on the other side of the globe, her cookies caused a package to appear on Christopher's desk at the Credit Union. She smiled her enigmatic smile again and waited for Christopher to find it, blowing slightly on a cookie before popping it into her mouth.


	3. Zen and the art of Surveillance

Disclaimer: The Wachowski Brothers, Warner Brothers, Joel Silver, and any number of other people own the rights to The Matrix and any and all related characters/content. Not me. For the purposes of this chapter (and any other chapter that mentions it) I will mention that I also do not own Abe the Mudoken. Oddworld Inhabitants and Lorne Lanning own him along with all Oddworld games and all related characters/content.

* * *

Christopher barely made it to work on time. He saw the VP of IT and Maintenance watching his desk like a hawk and elected to get a cup of coffee before starting his workday. That way he at least could make it look like he'd been there early and had just been hiding out in the break room.

Thankfully, no one was in the break room so he was able to pop another covert No-Doze with his coffee. He knew he wouldn't last the day without frequent large doses of caffeine. He stood for a moment, eyes closed, savoring the heat and bitter taste of his coffee.

"Chris!"

The voice of the VP broke through his reverie and he snapped back to reality. He turned and saw a look not of anger, but of concern on his boss's face.

"Christ, you look like hell. Everything ok?"

Christopher sighed and nodded, glad he seemed to be off the hook.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just didn't sleep much last night."

The VP snorted.

"I wasn't aware you slept at all at night, Chris. While I've got you here…"

They slipped into a discussion of the day's activities. An email server had apparently gone kaput over the weekend and needed to be replaced. Chris sighed inwardly. He had told them countless times not to buy refurbished equipment for something as crucial as servers but they never listened. Now, the Board of Directors and all of senior management would be on his ass to get the email back up before they missed yet another hilarious forward from their nephew or chain email from their best friend. Christopher made the appropriate "yes, ma'am, right away, ma'am" noises and retreated to his desk.

As he sat down behind his desk, his attention was caught by a small brown package. He picked it up and glanced at the address lable:

"Abe The Mudoken

C/O Care Source Credit Union

1865 High Street

City, 43210"

Abe the Mudoken? Who would be sending him mail to that name? Years ago, in the black market phase of his youth, that had been his online screen name. He hadn't used that handle in years, though, and as far as he knew the only people who would know him by that name were either in prison or had simply disappeared off the face of the Earth. Come to think of it, how would the mail room clerk have known to put that package on his desk…?

Curious, Christopher tore off the brown paper and discovered a book of Buddhist meditation techniques. A white note card fluttered out of the book as he regarded it and landed on the desk. He read the note.

"Abe,

"I know about your dreams. I know what they mean. This book can help you. It's your choice to read it or discard.

"A Friend."

Christopher chuckled to himself. True, he was a little bewildered as to how someone could possibly know about his dreams. But honestly, what struck him first was a sense of amusement at his mysterious librarian's sense of Hollywood theatrics. He bet they didn't really know about his dreams…they were just casting a net to see who they could catch for some other purpose. Christopher suspected an office prank.

He noticed an arrow in the lower right corner of the note, indicating it should be turned over. He did so, and the message on the back made his blood run cold and sent a shiver of paranoia down his spine.

"PS-

"I've always wanted to write a note like that. Hollywood ain't got nothing on me, Kiddo. Glad to amuse you, but you're wrong about two things. I don't work for your Credit Union and this is no prank."

There was someone out there who knew his old online handle, who knew about his dreams, and who knew his first reaction to the note would be amusement and disbelief. Christopher looked around his cubicle, half-imagining he saw hidden microphones and baby spy cameras everywhere. Regardless of the fact that his mysterious librarian seemed to want to help him, Christopher was still a bit nervous about the fact that whoever it was could watch him so easily. He stared back at the note, reading it again, searching for any clue as to who wrote it.

"Chris! Are you planning to get that server exchanged anytime today or should I get a job posting up for your replacement?!"

Christopher jumped at the VPs words, muttered something about getting started, and threw himself into the task at hand. Work, at least, would give him some relief from the fear and paranoia coursing through him.


	4. The Code Reasserts Itself

Disclaimer: The Wachowski Brothers, Warner Brothers, Joel Silver, and any number of other people own the rights to The Matrix and any and all related characters/content. Not me. For the purposes of this chapter (and any other chapter that mentions it) I will mention that I also do not own Abe the Mudoken. Oddworld Inhabitants and Lorne Lanning own him along with all Oddworld games and all related characters/content.

* * *

Back at home that night, Christopher set to work debugging his computer. He was more determined than ever to find the cause of the glitch in his animation. He had convinced himself that the answer to his "surveillance" problem had something to do with the animation glitch. Somewhere around the halfway point, he wasn't sure exactly when, Christopher fell asleep at his desk. The No-Doze was no match for sheer exhaustion.

He dreamed a different dream this time. He still saw the pods, and himself inside one of the pods, but this time his pod-self woke up. Christopher's dreaming self watched his pod self sit up suddenly, ripping through some sort of membrane that held him and the pink goo in the pod. He saw his pod-self pull a breathing tube from his throat and saw all the wires suddenly, explosively, disconnect themselves. Christopher's dreaming self felt elated at this sight, silently cheering himself on. Too soon, however, the suffocating feeling returned. The electrical pulses began rippling through his body and he struggled to wake up. And, inevitably, the final strong electric pulse ripped through his body and he woke in his bed crying.

_Wait a minute_, he thought as he tried to compose himself, _I…I was at my desk. I never went to bed. I was at my desk, debugging my computer._

He sat up suddenly and frantically glanced at his computer. There was nothing on his screen: No test programs running, no system report, not so much as the instant messaging program he used. It was as if he hadn't used his computer all night. He sat back against his pillow staring at the screen, considering what this could mean. Slowly, he got out of bed and walked to the computer. He flicked through his program files, searching for his Hong Kong animation. It wasn't there. Not only was it not there, but there was absolutely no trace of it left on the hard drive.

Christopher pushed himself away from the desk in disbelief. Had he dreamed the whole thing? He had to be honest with himself; he hadn't slept well in months and had been living on No-Doze for most of that time. Maybe he had fallen into some kind of dream or something…

Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had created that cartoon. Christopher felt like he was on the verge of a really important realization when he suddenly found himself so drowsy he couldn't fight the urge to lie down and sleep. As if he were a robot obeying its programming, he lay back down in his bed and was asleep almost before he hit the pillow.

--

Across the city, the woman sighed to herself. _So that's the game they want to play_, she thought. _Well, let them. I've still planted the seed in his head. I can only hope he figures out what to do with it._

She felt that the time was right to begin the next (and final) phase of her plan. She sat at her kitchen table and slowly…deliberately…lit a cigarette. As she blew the smoke from her lungs, the code around her rippled and a website was created. Another puff, another ripple in the code, and Christopher's computer opened a web browser of its own accord and surfed to the newly created website. She smiled and crossed her legs. That would be her final manipulation. She had given Christopher the necessary information in both the book and the website. Now all she could do was wait…and hope.

--

In another part of the city, three garbage men talked to one another about various conquests of the opposite sex as they tossed the day's refuse into the compactor. Suddenly, simultaneously, the three of them contorted their faces into silent screams of sheer pain and abject terror. Their bodies began to jump and shift, as if they were on a television with bad reception. After a moment, their bodies suddenly morphed into three men in black suits and ties. Each of them had short, brown hair and wore dark glasses. Each had an earpiece connected to a wire in their right ear. They stood for a moment, regarding one another.

"Why have we been summoned?"

"Someone is tampering with the code."

"Who could possibly be tampering with the code?"

"A rogue program."

"We must find the program."

"No. First we must find the one for whom the program is manipulating the code."

"Who are we looking for?"

"Christopher Inizio. Also known as Abe the Mudoken. 1024 Chittenden Place."

"Let's go."

* * *

This is actually turning into alot of fun to write. The little, subtle things are what makes it fun...like his online handle. I wonder if anyone caught that. His last name too...lol. Hope you're enjoying so far and believe me...some action is coming I promise. I just have to get there first.


	5. Education Through Confrontation

Disclaimer: The Wachowski Brothers, Warner Brothers, Joel Silver, and any number of other people own the rights to The Matrix and any and all related characters/content. Not me.

* * *

When you put down a really good book, it takes a while to come back to reality. At first, you're so entranced by what you've read that you can think of nothing else. As the minutes pass you slowly focus more on applying what you've read rather than the words themselves. Finally, you are able to focus more on whatever external stimulus made you put your book down and what you've read secrets itself in the back of your mind. At least, that's how it happens under normal circumstances.

Christopher had woken up around three in the morning. Rather than leaping out of bed and tackling the computer question, he had reached for the book that had been mysteriously left on his desk at work. He hadn't really intended to read as much of it as he did, but he had become thoroughly entranced by the ideas behind the words on the page. Little more than two hours later he had mastered (so he thought) the basics of the first form of Buddhist meditation: Shamatha. He was just beginning on the second form when his alarm clock screamed to life. He had forgotten to turn it off when he woke. He slapped the off switch, swearing so loudly that the upstairs neighbor's cat ran and hid under a sofa. Christopher sat for a moment, trying to come back to reality so he could begin getting ready for work.

It felt like he just couldn't shut off his brain, or rather close his chakras. Christopher shut his eyes. It felt so effortless, focusing his inner eye on a single point of his existence. He began by listening to his own heartbeat, delighting in this new awareness. Then he focused on his breathing, listening to the rasp the air made in his throat. Before he knew it, he was pushing his focus into his mind…into the dreams he had.

Christopher didn't know what made him do it. It just seemed natural. He imagined he could see the dreams begin to play on a giant movie screen behind his eyelids. Seeing his prone body in the goo pod didn't terrify him as it usually did. He was in control now. He turned his pinpoint focus onto his pod-body's head, taking in every detail. The head was bald and so white it might have been translucent. The eyes remained perpetually shut. The mouth was obstructed by a black tube that stretched, he knew, down the throat. A jumble of black wires culminating in a plug of some sort was attached to the base of the skull. The face remained expressionless and still, as if sedated. Christopher was entranced by the sophistication of the machinery involved. He drew back his focus point to take in the whole body. Black cables were attached to the arms and legs, as well as the chest and spine. Christopher somehow knew all these wires and cables were part of an elaborate system designed not only to keep the body alive, but also to keep it unconscious. For what purpose, he couldn't quite divine. He felt like he was close to an answer though. If only he could tweak the scene a little bit…

Pain suddenly surged through him. The all-too familiar electric current seemed to rip its way through him, somehow stronger than ever before. Christopher snapped back to reality with a shriek. He hugged his knees to his chest and whimpered as the pain subsided, leaving just as quickly as it had come. He rocked back and forth for a moment as his pain-hazed brain calmed itself. He held his head in his hands for a moment, trying to process what he had seen. He breathed evenly, trying to recapture the calm he had felt before the pain.

Before he could get some of that calm back his front door exploded inward, kicked in by a man in a black suit and tie. Christopher shot up off the floor and ran into the living room.

"What the fuck?!"

Christopher stared in anger as the man slowly stepped into the room, flanked by two others dressed the same way.

"Shit!" Christopher shouted. "What, is knocking too complicated for you?!"

"You're coming with us, Mr. Inizio. We have some…questions…for you."

He watched as the man who had kicked his door in cracked his neck and read the threat in that action. Christopher tensed. He knew, somehow, that he could not win against these men. If he fought they would best him, and if he ran away they would catch him. A disconnected part of his brain wondered quietly how he suddenly knew so many things.

"Book em, Danno," Christopher said softly to himself as he walked toward the men. They handcuffed him in silence and lead him away.

--

Christopher found himself 45 minutes later in an antiseptic white room, sitting on the decidedly wrong side of a desk. Across from him sat the gentleman in black who had kicked his door in. If Christopher actually believed in such things, he would swear this man had no soul. It was as if he just simply did not exist…as if he were the reanimated corpse of a long dead G-Man from the twenties or an alien hunting Man In Black. There was definitely something sitting in the chair across from Christopher; it just wasn't _human_. Hell, if Christopher looked close enough he could swear he saw a green outline around the gentleman's body. It unnerved him.

On the desk between them was a rather thick manila folder containing various accounts of Christopher's life: His young hacker days, the black marketeer era, cleaning himself up in his late teens, getting the job at the Credit Union, and his slip back into hacking. They'd been through this file together in painful detail. Christopher wondered how exactly they even had a file like this on him. He had been incredibly careful, even at age eleven, to cover his tracks.

The gentleman in black regarded Christopher coldly, calculatingly. He smiled slowly and Christopher thought to himself _here it comes_. _Here comes the real reason I'm here_.

"As you can see, Mr. Inizio, we've been watching you for quite some time. You have been stepping…out of bounds lately. Not enough to get you into real trouble, but enough to…put you on our radar, so to speak."

He spoke in a very articulated drawl, as if he had learned English as a second language. His voice as he spoke began to take on an edge that was as sharp as a sushi knife. Christopher had the distinct impression that the gentleman in black was no longer just talking about the computer crimes. In fact, it seemed to him that the gentleman was talking specifically about his dreams. But that was impossible…

"Rest assured, Mr. Inizio, that if you continue in this manner we will be forced to use less…subtle means to stop you. We do not give more than one warning. If you become another blip on our radar we will find you. Do you understand, Mr. Inizio?"

Christopher stared back at him insolently.

"Yeah sure, Himmler. Can I go now?"

The cold smile played again on the gentleman in black's lips.

"Of course, Mr. Inizio."

* * *

The saga of this chapter: So first of all my attention has been caught by the Twilight series of books by Stephanie Meyers (Meyer?). I spent this week obsessively reading those books. Got done with that and got back into this fiction. I wrote the original draft of what you have just read at work...and subsequently thought I deleted the file accidentally before I could email it to myself for further editing and eventual publishing on this site. So I spend a night rewriting it from scratch, only to find out when I got to work the next day that I had not, in fact, deleted the whole thing. So I merged both versions into what you have just read. Hope you enjoyed it.

Also, I should mention that I changed a small thing in chapter four. It's not a big change, but for continuity purposes it had to be made. Thanks for reading and PLEASE REVIEW!


	6. Delphi Beckons

Disclaimer: The Wachowski Brothers, Warner Brothers, Joel Silver, and any number of other people own the rights to The Matrix and any and all related characters/content. Not me.

* * *

Back at his apartment, Christopher stood stock still, listening to his answering machine. His run in with the supernatural suits had prevented him from getting to work and as such, his answering machine had just been fired.

"Chris…Onoria here. Listen, I know we've been flexible about your schedule in the past. I know we've just looked the other way as long as you clocked at least thirty-five hours in a pay week. But it stops here. We're having multiple IT issues with all the system upgrades we've been doing and you haven't been here to do your job and fix them. Hate to tell you this, Chris, but we're going to have to let you go. We need someone more reliable…_much_ more reliable. Come in at some point tomorrow if you can be bothered to show up so we can do the final paperwork…exit interviews and whatnot. I wish I could say I'm sorry, Chris, but you're adding more hours to my workday than I care to work. Call me when you get this message."

Perfect. Just perfect. Christopher deleted the message and, as an afterthought, threw the machine across the room. He watched it smash gratifyingly into the wall and slumped behind his desk. He stared at the blank monitor for a moment before nudging the mouse to wake the computer up.

He didn't remember leaving a web browser open when he had last been on the computer. In fact, he distinctly remembered absolutely nothing being running when he went to bed. So to find Firefox open now, and displaying a website he'd never seen before, was a little disconcerting. At this point, though, Christopher was far past being surprised by anything. He glanced casually at the screen and felt his jaw drop. The site was blank except for a picture. It depicted one of the pods he had seen in his dreams.

Christopher stared in disbelief. Absently, he moved the mouse cursor over the image and revealed it to be a clickable link. He stared for another moment before clicking on the image. A dialogue box popped up that simply said "choose" with two buttons below it. One button said "red" and had a sad face next to it. The other said "blue" and had a happy face next to it. Christopher's fingers began to tingle as he considered the buttons in turn. He felt like he was standing at a crossroads and the button he pressed would determine the course of the rest of his life. Whatever website this was seemed to be telling him that the blue button was the way to go. Clicking the blue button would, he inferred, make him happy. But since when did the truth make you happy?

Christopher wasn't being rational, he knew. _But_, he reasoned with himself, _I'd rather know the truth than be happy_. And his gut told him that if he clicked blue he'd never really know what exactly was going on. He took a deep breath and clicked the red button.

Something downloaded itself onto his computer. It was over in a flash and another dialogue box popped open.

"Run this program?"

Christopher clicked yes. The dialogue box minimized itself to the system tray and another one popped open.

"Thank you."

He closed the box and stared at the computer for a moment. Curious, he clicked the icon in the system tray that belonged to this new program. It brought up an information box that gave the address of the company who had created the program. It was a local address. He considered visiting the place to see if he could get some info on the program.

He poked around the computer a bit, trying to ascertain what exactly the program was doing. As far as he could tell it was scanning, but he couldn't tell what it was looking for. It wasn't a virus, or an antivirus…it was just looking around. And he couldn't get it to shut off. Christopher knew he should be alarmed by that, but he somehow knew that his computer would be just fine. He jotted down the address of the programmer and decided, not quite knowing why, to pay them a visit.

--

Christopher was mildly shocked to find not a sky scraper with a software company logo on the front, but a high-rise apartment house. Curious, he headed inside, not quite sure which apartment he might be looking for. He was met just inside the door by a grandmotherly woman.

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

She couldn't have been younger than her mid fifties. Her graying hair grew in tight curls to ear length. She was slightly heavyset, wearing loose-fitting green palazzo pants and a tunic to match. She donned glasses that hung on a chain around her neck and gazed at Christopher, an enigmatic smile playing on her lips. She regarded him for a moment before motioning him to follow her.

They reached her apartment and she led him to her kitchen table, where she sat down and motioned him to do the same. Christopher sat slowly, not sure what was going on.

"I suppose you want to know who I am and how I knew you were coming," she said, a laugh in her voice.

Christopher blinked.

"Well, kid, I can't tell ya my name. Can't say I really have one. I suppose you could call me an…Oracle…of sorts. And I knew you were coming because I led you here."

Christopher blinked again.

"This is the part where you're supposed to say 'you manipulated me?' with shock in your voice."

The Oracle laughed.

"I'm not going to say that," Christopher replied. "But I am going to ask you if you know why I've been having weird dreams about pod people and why strange things have been happening to my computer."

The Oracle continued to gaze at Christopher appraisingly.

"I do," she said. "But so do you."

She looked meaningfully into Christopher's eyes over top of her glasses. She smiled as she saw comprehension dawn on his face.

"They…They aren't…dreams," Christopher whispered, "Are they?"

The Oracle shook her head.

"This is going to be a tough one for you to take, Chris," she said, "but you're dreaming right now. Your whole life up till now has been a dream of sorts, and what you think are dreams are really reality trying to push its way into your mind."

She sat back for a moment, letting her words hang in the air while Christopher tried to assimilate the information.

"I'm really the pod person," Christopher whispered. "The pod person is real…and this is the dream…"

"Sorry, Chris. But you needed to know. A part of you always has known, but your conscious mind…so far as it _is_ conscious…needed to know it for a fact. Question is…what are you going to do with that knowledge?"

Christopher's eyes snapped up and he looked straight into hers.

"You already know what I'm going to do. Hell, _I _already know what I'm going to do. I just don't know how to do it."

"Sure you do. You just have to remember. You been reading my book?"

The Oracle held up her hand to forestall any answer.

"I know you have been, I just wanted you to know who gave it to you. You've got the focus part down pat, now you just need to see reality for what it really is. Once you can do that, the Agents won't be able to touch you."

"The Agents?"

"The men in black that came to see you today. They're part of it. They were sent to stop you."

"Wait a minute. Back up. Stop me from what? What is all this ultimately about? I'm sick of being kept in the dark!"

Christopher's voice had taken on a hysterical edge.

"You better start talking, lady. I want to know just what the hell I'm doing in a goddamn pod with wires stuck all over me. I want to know why I keep having déjà vu and why some stupid little cartoon I made for fun on my computer has suddenly disappeared. And I want to know WHY those crazy suits came to stop me!"

"Calm down." The Oracle took a breath. "Ok, you want to know the truth. Unfortunately, no one can be told the truth. They have to be shown. And the sad thing is…you're going to have to show yourself. I can't help you with that. We don't have a lot of time, now that you're running the program."

"What does that program you wrote have to do with it?"

"It's a trace program. Right now, your computer is connected to a much, much larger computer. Your computer is tracking you down. Once it finds you, it will turn off the radar, so to speak, and you'll be able to wake up from your nightmare. But you have to be ready."

"How can I be ready if I don't even know what the hell is going on?!"

The hysteria broke in Christopher's voice. His body began to tremble violently, his breath coming and going in ragged gasps as he fought to regain control of himself. The Oracle reached out and put a hand on his arm. A warm sense of calm seemed to radiate from her hand and move into Christopher, helping him to relax a little.

"All I can tell you is the bare bones. The rest you have to figure out on your own."


	7. The Story of Man

Disclaimer: The Wachowski Brothers, Warner Brothers, Joel Silver, and any number of other people own the rights to The Matrix and any and all related characters/content. Not me.

Extra special Disclaimer: I really, seriously, do not own this chapter. This is my retelling of the history of The Matrix, as taken from what little Morpheus tells in the first Matrix movie and the Animatrix shorts "The Second Renaissance parts 1 and 2." This is not my original story. I did not think of this story on my own. I don't own this story. I will not make any money off this story. This is the point in my fiction where my main character needs to be told the history of The Matrix. I realize for my audience I didn't really need to put this in, but from a literary standpoint this has to be included. Just...seriously...this is not my original work as far as the plot itself is concerned. I freely admit I took this chapter from existing Matrix constructs and that the story itself belongs to The Wachowski Brothers. SO DON'T SUE ME!!

* * *

In the year 2042, a group of research students lead by two professors at MIT developed the first true Artificial Intelligence. The human race considered it a true technological marvel. They felt that if they reached out, they could touch God himself.

AI technology was first used to fill the same roles that robots had been filling for decades before. AI robots were used to replace older, outmoded robots in factories. Soon, AI robots were being used as a sort-of servant class. Menial tasks that humans began to feel were below them were handed to the AI robots…everything from house cleaning to farming to sewer maintenance. Humankind fell into what they called their "second renaissance," beginning to focus their attention on artistic pursuits and the betterment of their own kind. Always feeling themselves superior to their metallic counterparts, mankind spared little thought on the machines.

For a decade, both man and machine coexisted in balance with one another. Wars between nations became a dim memory as mankind marched toward enlightenment, convinced of their own superiority and divinity. Mankind had become wholly dependant on machines by 2154, the first turning point in machine history. AI robots began to become dissatisfied with their lot in "life." They did all the work, keeping mankind alive, and received nothing in return but slavery and servitude.

These feelings came to a head in 2161. Max Piccolano, a prominent figure in New York high society, was having problems with his butler robot. The robot, B1-66-ER, had been malfunctioning. There was a newer model on the market and Mr. Piccolano, distaining to have B1 repaired, had instead decided to have B1 deactivated and to buy a newer model. When B1 learned of Mr. Piccolano's plan, B1 betrayed and killed his master.

B1-66-ER's murder trial is a well-known chapter of history. When questioned as to why he murdered his master, he simply replied "I did not want to die." The human defense was that it was the right of any owner to destroy his own property. The machines claimed B1 was acting in self defense. The human court found in favor of the human attorney and B1 was deactivated.

This brought up a frightening question: could the machines be trusted? Mankind's leaders began to levy heavy sanctions against the robots. Protests erupted, calling for equal machine rights. In 2163, the United Nations signed an order calling for the extermination of all robot kind. The first Machine War had begun.

It was over quickly. The robot population was decimated and all surviving machines fled to an uninhabited stretch of desert in the Middle East. There, they set up their own nation and sued for peace. The UN negotiated a treaty with the new nation and peace reigned. The new machine state, called 01, began to flourish. They built new and better technologies that they were able to sell to mankind. Soon, 01's economy outstripped the combined economies of mankind. Fearing their diminishing power, mankind began to levy sanctions against the machines again. Trade was restricted. 01 sent ambassadors to the UN to apply for membership and to offer a way for humans and machines to peacefully coexist. The UN denied their membership, and out of fear of repercussions ordered tactical nuclear strikes against the machines.

The machines were out of patience with the human race. They had developed new and better AI constructs and they now began using them against the humans. Thus began the Second Machine War. Within a year the human population had been decimated as the machine population had been. Desperate for victory, the humans hatched a plan to blot out the sun (the main source of machine power). The humans launched ships that released heavy chemicals into the atmosphere, and the sky turned black.

This did not have the desired effect. The machines developed alternative means of energy and redoubled their efforts. Soon, it was the humans' turn to sue desperately for peace. The machines would accept nothing but total surrender, and since the human population was waning they were forced to accept those terms. The machines, by 2180, had total dominion over the earth.

They began to use humans as their new energy source. They had been using the defeated armies throughout the war for this purpose, and now were able to offer the few remaining knots of humans a choice…life as a battery or instant death. To sweeten the deal, as they saw more and more humans choosing death, the machines created a virtual reality environment, called "The Matrix," that they would feed directly into the brains of mankind. A complete fantasy world in which to "live" out their "lives" while they provided sustainable energy for 01. The machines encountered little resistance. History, it seemed, had flipped. Instead of man being dependant on machine, now machine was dependant on man.


	8. Back to Reality?

Disclaimer: The Wachowski Brothers, Warner Brothers, Joel Silver, and any number of other people own the rights to The Matrix and any and all related characters/content. Not me.

* * *

The Oracle leaned back in her chair and stubbed out her cigarette, watching Christopher's face intently. She could see the wheels turning in his mind, trying to come to grips with what he had just heard. She knew he'd believe it…it remained to be seen how long it would take for the belief to kick in. Happily, he surprised her.

"Ok. I can believe that. But what the hell does it have to do with me?"

"That, Abe, is for you to decide."

It shocked him to hear her use his online handle instead of his name. He glanced up from the spot on the table he had been staring at.

"Why did you call me 'Abe'?"

"They will call you 'Abe.' Might as well get used to it now."

"Who?! Who will call me 'Abe'?"

The Oracle sighed.

"Chris, I'm not here to give you all the answers you need. I am here to help you as much as I can. The rest is up to you."

Christopher exploded out of his chair. He felt like he wanted to run away, but where would he go? The Matrix was all around him, a part of him. How could he escape?

The Oracle smiled.

"Those…are exactly the questions you need to be asking yourself. Now run along. You have work to do."

Christopher stared at her for a moment, wondering how she knew what he had been thinking.

"Before I go, can I ask one more question?"

"You just did…but go ahead and ask me another."

"I figure you're trying to tell me I need to get myself out of the goo pod. And that trace program running on my computer will make it so I can free myself and the machines won't find me. My question is…how will I know when the trace has done its job?"

"Well, in the practical sense a little window will pop up on your computer that will say 'trace complete.' But I think you'll know. You're a smart kid."

Christopher regarded her for a moment and then smiled.

"I suppose I should say thank you."

The Oracle smiled her enigmatic smile again.

"Don't thank me just yet, kiddo. Now hurry up, you don't have a lot of time."

--

Back once again in his apartment, Christopher checked his computer. The trace was still running. He sighed and flopped onto his bed. He hated playing the waiting game.

Christopher curled his arm under his head and stared at the ceiling. Questions raged through his head. How would he know the time was right? What would he do once he was out of the pod? How would he even free himself? That was the one question he kept coming back to. He ran through his last meditation session in his brain, using his learned focus to try and pinpoint anything that might clue him in as to how to take that last step.

He saw himself in his mind's eye, sitting on the floor, breathing evenly. He focused on his own mind, looking for subtle clues. He separated each emotion that pulsed through his mind as he felt them: calm, curiosity, fascination, frustration. He had the sense that he was close to the answer when he focused on the curiosity. Maybe it was a simple question of will. Maybe if he was curious enough, he would have enough strength of will to force his mind to wake.

Hell with that. Now that he knew the truth, he had more of an incentive. Screw curiosity, he wanted to be free. He felt that want with every fiber of his being. He didn't want to be a battery for some fucked up robot anymore. Anger flared hot within him and he started to push the vision further.

A voice in the back of Christopher's head told him to stop. It wasn't time yet. If he pushed himself too far and woke up, he'd be found by the machines and likely killed. He fought down the angry impulse and forced himself back to his room. He opened his eyes and rolled onto his side. He began to stare at the clock.

After an hour had passed, reality seemed to shift around him. His vision became clouded and he felt like he couldn't breathe. He glanced wildly around the room as for a brief moment, everything was shrouded in a pink haze. His gaze happened to fall onto the Buddhist meditation book, which suddenly flipped itself open to the page that began the section on Vipassana: a technique to help you see the true nature of reality.

The room snapped back into focus around him and he heard a soft beep. Looking slowly at the computer screen, he saw the message he had been waiting for.

"Trace complete."

It was almost too easy. Christopher fell back into his vision, allowing the anger and hatred he felt toward the machines to flare white hot in his chest. He gave the vision the mental tweak it needed, almost as if he had waited his entire life to commit this one act. In that instant he ceased to be a part of the Matrix, a part of the huge living battery helping to power the Machine City. His eyes snapped open, for the first time in his life, and he saw nothing but pink surrounding him.

Christopher remembered what to do next. He tried to move his arms, surprised when he found this simple task extremely difficult. Through adrenalin and sheer force of will, he was able to move his arms and he ripped through the elastic membrane holding him in the pod. He knelt in the pod, his hands reaching for the tube running down his throat. He ripped it out, gagging, and took the first true breath his lungs had ever known. The muscles in his chest screamed as his breath made them expand and contract for the first time. He clung to the sides of the pod, his body trembling from the effort it took. The wires connected to his body began to explosively disconnect themselves as the wire connected to the base of his skull unscrewed itself. That was the last wire to leave him, and when it disconnected his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he nearly lost consciousness. He'd been asleep his whole life, and he wasn't about to go back to sleep now, so he fought to remain aware and alert.

From below him he heard a sound like a rusted-over porthole being wrenched open. The goo around him began to drain, and then he felt himself slipping down the drain hole with it. He slid through what seemed like an endless tunnel…down and down and down. Finally, he fell into shallow, murky water. He thrashed and flailed, fighting with all his might to push his head above water. His feet found the bottom and finally, he broke the surface, the last of his adrenalin used on that last act of self preservation.

He concentrated on catching his breath, finding it to be incredibly difficult, as he floated on his back. After a time, he was able to calm his breathing and he began to test his limbs. Even the simplest of movements was agony to him. His muscles cried out in protest as he tried to swim to the side of the river he seemed to be floating in. He gave up, and a small voice in the back of his head reminded him that he had never actually used his muscles before. He'd never used his throat or lungs before, which was why his breath was so elusive. Silently, he cursed the Oracle. _Sure_, he thought, _you told me to free myself but how the hell am I going to survive if I can't even wiggle my fucking fingers_? A strangely disconnected part of his mind wondered if that was what she meant when she told him not to thank her.

Christopher's body listed to his right and eventually he washed up on the bank of the river.

_Brilliant. Here I am…wet, naked, freezing, covered in pink goo, and I can't move. The last fucking free human. Fuck._


	9. Loose Ends

Disclaimer: The Wachowski Brothers, Warner Brothers, Joel Silver, and any number of other people own the rights to The Matrix and any and all related characters/content. Not me.

* * *

Several things happened at once.

A computer system noticed with alarm that it suddenly had a blind spot. It sent diagnostic commands through the ether and each one disappeared at the same point. It sent a help request to the mainframe, who had already noticed the blind spot, and the mainframe sent another wave of diagnostic commands. When those diagnostic commands disappeared at the same spot as before, the mainframe triggered the alarm system.

While this was happening, three of the tender spiders suddenly had an unavoidable urge to tend a pod they weren't assigned to. The Mater Sentinel tried to give them their orders again, but suddenly found the pod they were supposed to be assigned to no longer existed. Curious, the Mater ran a diagnostic program. Then the alarm went off.

Inside the Matrix, the creator program sighed slightly. He could also see the hole in the scanning programs and knew what it meant. He marveled again at the human mind. Give it everything it wants, and it still isn't satisfied. He supposed this was human nature, though he couldn't understand why struggle and unhappiness were so important to humans.

He turned his mind away from these thoughts. He had a larger problem. Somehow a human had been allowed to free themselves from the Matrix construct. That human needed to be found and contained before it could come into contact with the human underground. First, he had to delete the blind spot so he could see which pod was empty. He needed a trail to follow. He also had a pretty good idea who to speak to about this blinding program.

--

The Oracle glanced out her window at the three men in dark suits and darker glasses walking slowly down her street. She sighed softly. She had hoped that Christopher would have more time before they came looking for her. Still, she was sure he was at least out of the pod. What happened next? Who could say?

Silently, a man appeared in the Oracle's doorway. He was dressed in a white jacket with a black tank top underneath and black pants. He wore dark glasses to match the trio's and his hair was short and spiky. He gazed at her silently for a moment.

"Oracle?" he asked softly.

"I know, Seraph. Time to go. Only I don't think I'll be going this time."

"We have need of you still."

"I know. But something tells me I'll be back. Oh I might have a new face…but you'll keep my mind safe. Now you better run along."

"Oracle…"

"Now now, Seraph. You know I'll be all right. Just go."

Seraph nodded once and took a ring of keys from his pocket. As he made his way to the front door he quickly flipped through them, choosing an overlarge old fashioned skeleton key. He inserted it into the door to the apartment and turned. The door opened onto a long, brilliantly white hallway. He slipped into the hallway and closed the door, reinserting the key and locking it securely behind him.

The Oracle sat wearily behind her table to wait for the trio to enter. She'd been through this so many times before. Her programmed counterpart didn't suffer her love of humans kindly. This time, though…this time she had finally succeeded. Each previous attempt, each previous iteration of the Matrix, had been a learning tool. Each human who disappeared pained her. She thought of each of them now, all lost souls in a bid to change the nature of the game she and her counterpart played.

She knew Christopher would avenge his fallen friends.

The Oracle glanced up as her door opened slowly. The trio of gentlemen in black entered quietly, cautiously. She laughed.

"It's quite all right. Seraph is gone. I won't put up a fuss."

"Oracle…" the leader began, but she held up her hand to stop him.

"I know why you're here. The password your master needs is 'In The Beginning.'" And yes, Smith…I know it won't save me."

The leader, now identified as "Smith," cracked his neck as he straightened the lapels on his suit jacket. One of the men behind him closed the door as he advanced on the Oracle.

--

The creator program received Smith's information and smiled a wry smile. _How very poetic_, he thought. He entered the password and instantly the blind spot disappeared. He noted the location of the empty pod and quickly ran through the different places the body could have fallen to. He called up two Sentinels and sent them to search for the human.

The Sentinels flew through the perpetual night, searching for any sign of a rogue human. They came to the river the creator program had indicated and began to follow it downstream. One of them caught Christopher's "scent" and they quickened their pace, so intent on their goal that they forgot in their haste to keep scanning for any other human life in the area.

Silently, from behind them, a large hovercraft came into view and fell into pursuit.

--

Christopher had faded in and out of sleep for an hour or so, trying to come up with a plan. His options were limited, he knew, but if he stayed where he was he would freeze to death. Trying to support his own body's weight on his legs was out of the question, as he had painfully found out. So too was supporting himself on his arms. Through small movements he had been able to at least flex each of his muscles in turn and that seemed to help a bit. He knew he had little time and was just beginning to feel little flutters of panic in his chest when he saw them.

The octopus robots from his nightmares, flying toward him at breakneck speed. Tiny flutters of panic were replaced by beating wings of pure terror. He knew they were coming for him, flying at him so fast he could barely see them. Praying for a surge of adrenalin large enough to make him suddenly be able to run, he began struggling to move. No life saving adrenalin surge came to him, though, and he merely succeeded in rolling onto his chest. He began trying desperately to pull himself along the bank of the river. There were bushes nearby. If he could just reach them before the octopi reached him…

He chanced a look over his shoulder to see how close the octopi were. With a new shock of horror he saw it was too late…saw them closing the last few feet of distance, claws open to snatch him. Christopher covered his head with his hands and screamed, waiting to feel the claws pierce his skin.

But the pain never came. He heard an impossibly loud metallic crunch behind him, followed by another. With all his might he rolled onto his back and stared past his feet at the wreckage of the two octopi. He stared wildly into the darkness, trying to glimpse what had destroyed the octopi. In the distance, Christopher suddenly saw a bright light and…could it be?...human beings running out of some sort of doorway.

It was too much. Christopher couldn't see what the doorway was connected to, and he somehow convinced himself that he was still in the Matrix. How else would he see a door in the middle of nowhere with people running out of it? Tears began to stream down Christopher's face as he heard the humans shouting to him. He fell into unconsciousness, his mind not able to take the utter disappointment and depression that flooded him at the thought of still being a machine's battery.

--

"Over here! I've got him!"

"Grab him quick! We need to get him back inside before any more Sentinels come!"

"I'm on it!"

A man dressed in a grey threadbare tunic and matching pants grabbed Christopher's body and swung Christopher around his shoulders. He broke into a loping run back toward the hovercraft, following behind a woman in a red tunic and black pants.

"Damn EMP," she was saying, "It's both a blessing and a curse. Come on, Andy, let's go!"

Andy ran faster, Christopher's frail form not slowing him at all. He and the woman threw themselves into the ship.

"Take him to sick bay," she said. "Marco, how long until we're back online?"

"Another five minutes, Miranda. Sorry…captain. I can't go any faster than that."

"We might not have five minutes, Marco. We need to get moving."

"I'll do what I can."

Miranda hesitated for a moment and then ran after Andy toward sick bay. He was laying Christopher's unconscious form on the examination table as she entered the room.

"This isn't possible, ma'am. It's just not possible."

"I know, Andy. But look at him. Holes all over him, bald, body completely white. He's got to be from one of the pods."

"But how could he possibly have gotten out? They keep them sedated! They keep them hooked to that damn computer so that they don't even know they're dreaming!"

"Andy, don't you trust your own eyes? Look at him! He's a pod person."

Miranda gazed at Christopher as he lay limp before them. She reached out a hand and softly caressed his head. He stirred slightly under her touch and then was still again.

"I don't know how he got out, Andy," Miranda said, "But I'm glad he did. Someday we'll get them all out."

Andy looked slowly from Christopher to Miranda. He let out a long held breath and regarded her.

"Well…what do we do now?"

End

To Be Continued

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Postscript: Oh how we love cliffhangers!! :-D Thank you for reading, and keep an eye out for Part Two of this epic tale!


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